


Reclusive Redemption

by Atavisticii



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 30s slang, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Charlie needs a hug, Detectives, Eventual Romance, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Investigative Journalist Charlie, Murder, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prohibition, Redemption, Romance, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Speakeasies, Violence, antiques
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atavisticii/pseuds/Atavisticii
Summary: "A victim finding the darkest form of justice is driven by the thrill to kill. I don't think they have the chance to be redeemed...??" She was teetering over with doubt from her words—questioning her claim for a moment."My dear, you can't spell 'Redemption' without spilling some 'Red'—no?" chortling, he tapped her nose.
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still getting the hang around ao3 so everything might be fairly new to me?? (except for reading various works :P) But writing a fanfic about Charlastor/Radiobelle is something I've wanted to do for some time now and here it is! :DD

Blankets of white ashen snow enveloped the whole landscape where a forest of ebony littered the view. Although the onset of dawn was starting to peek into view, the footprints he bore remained more apparent and frequent around each tree stump he passed by.

With a swing of his ax, he continued his rigorous work to collect more firewood and slump it on the generous stack.

It was colder than usual and he made sure that he was well kept underneath his coat and woolly scarf. Although his whole getaway was warm and comfortable, it only added a thicker foggy mist on the lenses of his thinly-rimmed glasses.

He made sure to wipe them clean before and after he was through with today's work, taking mental notes break after break, humming ever so lightly in satisfaction as he admired the fruits of his labor.

Once he was finished, he was ready to pick up the bunch of wood he cleaved off the ground and head home, but not until a lone figure in the woods caught his attention.

It was a **deer**

—Considering the silhouette of majestic antlers that protruded from his view.

It was almost a rare sight for him. He never imagined that such a creature would wander off into the cold, especially with the presence of wolves—lurking around in search of lean meat.

But given the current circumstance, he clearly has the upper hand against the absent carnivores.

And he was going to take that chance away, with one **fatal** throw.

When life presents itself before him, he would do everything— _No_ — **Anything** , to get it and let it play into his grasp.

He wants everything to play in his favor, but nonetheless, he believes that everything requires a great amount of effort and sacrifice to indulge in that sweet taste of satisfaction.

The process itself was questionable for many of his dear friends, but it is what keeps him entertained away from the confines of sheer, absolute boredom.

He was a peculiar man, they say.

But he'd rather be an interesting gentleman, than a bland oddity.

Cold sweat started to bead on his forehead once he perched on a nearby boulder to close on his prey.

He was patient and quiet. A threat lurking from within, his target unaware of the awaiting danger that sealed its fate.

With calculated movements, he threw a pebble at a distance. The creature perked from the sound and with one swift movement, the ax was hauled into its way.

A cry of agony was heard from the limping deer.

Crimson gurgled out from its hind leg, the blade latched itself bone-deep onto its shaking frame. It continued to attempt an escape, but it was **useless.**

The man approached the prey and he was delighted at the sight, his eyes drinking in the helpless state it was in.

Grabbing the handle, he continued to add more pressure on the stained blade, until the deer bled to death as blood pooled the snow underneath.

He normally enjoyed seeing the helplessness of a creature such that of a deer. A once-majestic creature, now reduced into a puddle of fear before his eyes. It filled him with power and authority, over anything within his core.

It was a **sick** sense, but he always acknowledged the better out of it—like finding a good meal to put on his plate while he brandished his best hunt on the wall like a prized trophy or an elegant piece of furniture.

Regardless of what they make out of it, it's just a normal thing to do for him. He hunts and survives just like any other human being.

The ax was still coated with blood and he busied himself to clean it once more before it was shoved back into its sheath.

Hauling the kill onto his shoulder with the firewood on his other hand, he journeyed into the opposite way where the sun shone.

\---

The cold gust of the winter wind rattled the branches on the windowpane, consequently brushing off the ice and snow off its withered form.

It was the break of dawn, and yet the subtle whispers of the cool morning breeze still found its way to slip past the shutters and underneath the oaken door frame.

But nonetheless, the warmth of the humble abode from the crackling fireplace and the bittersweet aroma of cup of joe lingered.

Red tracks trailed across the floor, as a generous amount of blood was splattered across his vest. It was a chore to remove the stains but sometimes, he never really did care especially if it's one of his hunting clothes.

His breaths remained shallow and controlled, anticipation and composure adorning his chiseled features after skimming through every letter that he had preceded to open. Taking occasional sips from his mug, he languidly helped himself generous portions from the venison meat.

Letters of different writings scattered the table, begging to be opened, and yet, he resigned from reading the bunch. He also figured that they weren't worth his time anyway.

Seeking the mail he needed never took up a minute or so of his time, since its distinct features were more prominent and enticing than the other bland pieces of parchment.

It was Vermillion, enclosed by a wax seal with postal stamps. The letter was burned into his mind, blinking as if questioning its existence on his bare hands.

It was the long-awaited letter from his dear friend, more so it was not just any letter but rather an invitation for him to visit and extend his stay out of Louisiana— _New Orleans_ for that matter.

He never really considered leaving his dear hometown, since here reside his most wonderful memories with his late mother in the dazzling outskirts of Bourbon Street, especially during the Mardi Gras festival. Truly it was a sight to behold!

All the music, the food, and the places...

He smiled, reminiscing all the fond memories.

But this time, life had other plans and he had to take the risks.

Ever since the onset of the Stock Market Crash, the economy was on the brink of falling into ruin and so unemployment rates remained high, banks have failed and the crisis spanned globally.

It was a disaster, and he knew better than to let it get to him. Food was getting scarce, and he might resort to—well, seek other resources.

Although blessed with a spiffy career, the letter was his best ticket out of his other **dilemmas**.

Now that the existence of the mail is known, He never really had much of a choice anyway. The tram ticket was due today and he figured that Mimzy planned the day on purpose to make his decisions short-lived. Although it wasn't really urgent for him to take his leave, Mimzy assured him that it was.

Seeing that being caged within the confines of his home won't take him anywhere, he allotted a generous amount of time to think and to read the letter thoroughly before finally reaching a conclusion. If in case the odds started to play into his favor, then he would rather continue playing his role in this little stage of entertainment, amidst their wandering eyes.

But even so, he remained vigilant at the cost of his actions if things are to go awry once more. It only takes a matter of time before the _**hunter becomes the hunted**_.

After half a day of contemplating, he accepted his fate.

With a stash of his best clothes, a few other necessities, and a beautiful photograph of a stunning lady, he was off towards the tram stop.

\---

A change of scenery was something he never expected to see. Even if it was a sudden shift for him, it served as a refresher of the state of the world outside his own. Being accustomed to the friendly and jovial atmosphere of his hometown, the passing streets before him by the passenger seat window were now **devoid** of it.

Businessmen and women in their formal attires were crowding at the posts and sidewalks as the heavy silhouette of dark clouds loomed over the apple.

Meanwhile, the driver found himself stealing a few conspicuous glances at his discreet passenger, ever since he fetched him at the station while adjusting the rearview mirror with his free hand.

The passenger kept his view of the outside, seemingly to be deep in thought.

Unnerved of the quiet atmosphere hanging between them, static whizzed lowly when the radio was flicked on as the cab reached a crossing.

" _—LOUISIANA MYSTERY AWAKENS AS MORE DEAD BODIES WERE CLAIMED TO LITTER THE ALLEYWAYS AND DUMPS WITH DISTINCT FERAL MARKS IDENTIFIED BY A LOCAL HOUSE PEEPER_!"

The radio announcer's voice bellowed amidst the staggering white noise and static, overlapping the transmission until the frequency latency was established.

" _RESIDENTS ARE NOW ON THE EDGE! CURRENTLY AWAITING FOR A LEAD ABOUT THE BRIMMING ATROCITY AT HAND—_ "

The announcement was silenced into a low crackling whisper, as the driver attempted to deter the same old news report that's been going about for a week, and flicked it into a smooth jazz station to calm his foreboding thoughts.

Although the soothing jazz music enveloped the flivver, the driver remained _unsettled_ at the presence of the gent by the backseat. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he waited impatiently for the pedestrians to cease the intersection.

Grumbling under his breath, he rolled down the glass window and reached for a cigarette on the vacant seat beside him.

"Need a lighter?" The passenger offered a charming smile.

"Thanks..?"

"The name's Alastor, good sir."

"Husk" A small puff of smoke, left his mouth.

With a satisfied hum, they took off ahead on the next street's turn. Husk's eyes bored listlessly on the road ahead, yet he remained watchful of his companion by the backseat.

Now that his passenger is no longer a stranger to him by name, The presence of the passenger remained more apparent to him than most of the drives he took.

Now that he thought about it, The man gave off a _mysterious_ aura ever since he laid eyes on him at the railway station. Clean and polished suit with sharp glasses behind those piercing amber eyes—he was certain that he was no ordinary man, but a man of standing.

"I apologize for the arrogant display earlier, you could say I was pretty joed from the trip." Alastor chortled, his eyes trailing over Husk from behind.

He knew that the man was only striking up a friendly conversation, but if he were to choose between the light-hearted remark and the calm atmosphere they had earlier. He would prefer the latter since he wasn't much of a chatterbox after all, but he still gave it a try out of courtesy.

"'Tis alright, Mimzy told me that you're from New Orleans—Louisiana, right? 'Must be a relief to leave." His voice was muffled from the cigar at the edge of his lips.

"Hohoho! I beg to differ. It's a beautiful city if you would." Alastor jovially claimed, now humming along with the familiar jazz music.

Husk raised a brow, taken aback from the sudden peak of enthusiasm in his voice. In fact, Alastor never seemed a tad less bothered by the implication within his question.

"I don't think beautiful is the right word to describe it, especially when night falls."

News had been very active and alive lately about the string of deaths from an unknown killer, roaming the streets at night. Although the reports were heavily circling within Louisiana, there's no definitive assurance that the perpetrator, or whatsoever, would never strike away from its vicinity, and that's what keeps everyone all steamed up.

Husk was particularly alarmed. Despite his well-built physique, he never wanted to be involved in any life-threatening situations or into any trouble at all. The situation is clearly a threat to his nighttime agendas, reconsidering a new line of work or a new arrangement with his employer would ease off his mind. Actually, he might do that later.

With a guffaw, Alastor remained undaunted, in fact, he seemed more delighted.

"Nonsense! I fail to see why a man such as yourself would despise the dark when the streets are alight!"

"A lot of wonders happen heavily in the dark" His voice shifted an octave lower, sending a slight wave of uneasiness towards Husk.

Rolling his eyes for a moment, Husk grew tired of the booshwash and the heavy undertone behind Alastor's words. It turns out that he needed a little bit more of **sanity** to at least keep this job, especially with the likes of Alastor. Squeezing the cigarette butt on the tray beside him, he decided to play along.

"Eh, hooligans crawl out often these days. A lot of weird shit has been goin on lately. I'd like to keep on the lookout if I were you." Not that he was concerned, but he wanted to instill a little bit of dread on the extremely animated man to put his lid on.

"Worry not my friend! I assure you that I certainly do not lack in that department." He remarked, leaving Husk annoyed as he muttered under his breath, clearly displeased by the man's off-putting attitude.

Rounding on a corner, the pitter-patter of the rain started to fall on the pavements. Luckily, the two men arrived at their destination just in time.

Husk was fairly relieved now that the rain and the destination saved his sanity. Now he just needed to help the man out with his luggage and into the empty shop before he can finally enjoy his spare time in peace. 

Rushing out into the open rain, Husk proceeded to open the trunk while tipping his flat cap to shield himself from the sudden downpour. He scrambled his fists on all three of Alastor's luggage and reached for the doorstep's canopy for shelter.

As untimely as it was, the weather worsened with a sickening thunderclap from above. Alastor prompted to linger inside the flivver a little longer as Husk unlocked the door and hauled himself inside. With a downcasted shadow, a deep wave of resentment caught Alastor in a trance as he took in the view of the old establishment before him.

**It was an antique shop.**

There wasn't much to look at since the dreary dark skies of nightfall obscured the most part of it. Although it was welcoming to finally see the place again, he wasn't very keen to dig deeper about the past lurking behind it—

**_or rather, the person who used to run it._ **

Dismissing his thoughts away, he got off his seat with an umbrella in hand in one slick movement into the sopping roadside.

The streets were close to empty and the street lights were glowing faintly in contrast with the rain on the road. It was finally nighttime, and boy does he ever feel more awake, _but the circles under his eyes proved otherwise_.

With a sharp intake of air, Alastor entered the establishment with newfound vigor. Meanwhile, Husk lay exhausted on a nearby chair, miserably wringing his soaked dress shirt.

"'Got everything you need inside. Mimzy sent Niffty to clean the place a few days ago, but she decided to leave the trinkets to you."

The musty smell of rain persisted from inside the shop as the eerie glow of the wall-mounted lights accentuated the dreary wallpapers on it. It was fairly clean. Everything was restored well, but _some windows and walls definitely needed some work_.

"Well, thank dear Nifty and Mimzy for me. I will certainly make do here."

Husk only murmured, taking note of the absent gratitude he has from him. He could've expected less from the man. Anyways, it's not like he's one to complain—now that he can enjoy his spare time earlier than he had expected. A few drinks back at the local bar was enough as it is.

Tipping his hat, Husk ventured out into the rain.

Now that he was alone, he spent extra time looking into the collection of things inside the boxes that Husk mentioned. Below the shop, a hatch that led to the basement remained untouched. Although a few charred marks remained and stopped by the entranceway, everything in there still exists. Untouched—just the way he thought it would.

 _Tea caddies, silverware, pocket watches, jewelry, pottery_ —All remnants from the travels made around the globe.

From vintage to antique, it piqued his interest. Not because of how such things are passed down throughout history, _**oh no.**_

But the fact that something worn off by age can be so valuable—important and yet, it can also be capable of causing _unprecedented misfortunes_. Although it is ironic that such items normally bring people a fortune, it still depends on how and where they see fit to use it.

If Alastor were to compare himself with the barren antiques, he sees little to no difference between him and them. After all, no one ever suspects about the havoc that a _simple and forgotten little antiquity_ may bring.

Fishing his hand out from one of the disarrayed boxes, a finely handcrafted knife sheath with red and blue symbols emerged from his grasp. His smile went awry, reveling at the sight of the small sack.

Slowly emptying the pouch, the light illuminated a knife handle made of ebony laced with runic inscriptions. Compared to the others, this was the oldest and well kept archaic artifact. Being nothing but a piece of ornament in the eyes of many—its _value was reduced to none_ without its fitting **sharp piece**.

But little knew of it as well as the unimaginable capabilities it possessed. With the right person and the right pieces—Alastor was the best fit. Drawing out the glistening blade from his luggage, an audible smack was heard from two parts.

His lopsided smile grew wider, the reflection bouncing off from the edge of the knife. A sudden faint electro-swing music from a nearby room reverberated into the basement, causing him to indulge in the music in swinging motions with closed eyes.

" _Que le spectacle commence..._ " he whispered, a red flash of light crossing over his half-lidded eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AaaaaAaa writing this has been so much fun and interesting for me! I have to admit, Alastor is one difficult character for me to write about since he's quick-witted in thinking also because of the time setting from the 30s lol
> 
> This is also my first time to write something that depicts killing and violence since it's really not my thing and forte xD 
> 
> And about the updates, I've decided that I would bide my time before I update this story since I really wanted to create quality content for y'all and improve as I go. I can't assure the exact day of my schedules.
> 
> I hope y'all understand > ~ <
> 
> But there ya go! I hope it came out as expected.
> 
> Who was the previous owner of the antique shop? and why does Alastor seem to hold some hate towards them? Most of all, what business does he have that ties him with the previous owner?
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! <3


	2. Playing Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's dedication as a journalist is admirable, but Vaggie is concerned that she may be pursuing a different goal in mind.

"Charlie! Dinner's ready!"

"I-in a minute!!"

Charlie threw an exasperated sigh as she stared at the blank paper on her typewriter, and then her whole work desk. 

Clutter. _Disarray._ **Disaster**

Everything was a mess, and she couldn't focus. Writing in the middle of the night usually eased her mind to think outside the box—to keep her ideas wild and free away from daytime distractions. But this time, she was **stuck**.

Frustration was getting the most of her and it did little to sober her up from thinking straight.

All she ever wanted to do was to write _something news-worthy_ that would open the hearts and minds of the people to avoid turning a blind eye about the inconspicuous movement of crime and the unjust system.

Many people were slaughtered and were delivered in the wrong end of justice and she can't sit still and just let _bygones be bygones_. From behind all the murders, she knew— _ **No**_ —she was **certain** that there's a bigger story hidden within it.

She wanted to see the bigger picture of what the true motives lead someone to commit a crime before it passes the hands of the conspirators. Despite living in the 30s where crimes were normalized, most reports end up being manipulated and falsified by the big shots and their fledglings. Although the existence of these orchestrated crimes was being covered up, there was no stopping her to continue her passion to work behind the grind.

Media manipulation, controlling information, abuse of power—filtering information about a public concern is an issue that should be raised. 

_She yearns for social justice._

Whining in frustration, her eyes wandered on the link chart pinned haphazardly on her bulletin board.

**The Fallen Veils.**

The pictures and snippets from several news articles about the string of deaths from the past few years have been enough to prove that she was determined to find a lead and a connection amongst the reports that had been made—It was her _"life's work"_ to say the least.

It was honest work and she was proud to see the progress she had made thus far.

It was one of the many cases she wanted to uncover because it piqued her interest. The peculiarity was that the name had been around before her time, and yet none knew much about the people behind it. The only general knowledge was the fact that this criminal ring consisted of _3 members_ who left playing cards near the dead bodies of their victims.

Opening her bottom drawer, she drew the photograph of the card near to her desk lamp for better lighting.

The photograph bore no ordinary card—it was a replica of a normal playing card but was replaced with an image of the _fallen angel_ with a familiar "V" on the edges. Thanks to her perks as a journalist, she was fast on her feet to capture it from the crime scene at Rosie's emporium down the street a few weeks ago.

She wanted to inspect the crime scene and interview Rosie herself about what had really happened to Franklin, but as a mere rookie journalist, _she was denied further inquiry_. Now she was only given the choice to read and deal with the data passed down to her by the investigators. If that wasn't strange enough, she knew that Franklin's death had something to do with the **Veils**.

Many investigators denied the relation of Franklin's death to the Veils. They had reached this verdict without as much as definitive evidence on it despite the clear existence of the card, and she found those _pretty shady_.

If no one's gonna divulge the low down, she might as well do it firsthand.

But not with an empty stomach.

She'll deal with the paperwork later, for the meantime, she must take her share and exhibit the role of a proper host.

Pinning the photograph on her link chart, she made a beeline for the kitchen downstairs. The invigorating aroma of food on the tables wafted under her nose by the entryway of the kitchen as Vaggie busied herself to take charge of the cooking for the night since Charlie needed to meet some paperwork deadlines.

"Let me do the rest, sorry to keep you waiting." said Charlie, flashing an apologetic look to her companion as she leaned by the doorway.

" _No hay problema._ Cooking isn't really your thing and besides, it's the least I can do for all the help that your parents did for the place." Vaggie was considerate as ever, and she thanked the heavens to be blessed with such a friend.

With Charlie moving in with her colleague and friend, Vaggie, it became easier for her to get by around town and into their workplace at the news station. It had been a week since she decided to leave the manor and take her career matters in her own hands, but she wouldn't be allowed to go off the hook that easily. With the help of the Magnes, her and Vaggie's living conditions were kept in tip-top shape.

As Charlie helped with the china and the other utensils, Vaggie couldn't help but notice the neutral expression on Charlie's face. If she had known better— _ **which she does**_ —there was never any dull moment when it comes to Charlie's personality. These were the times that she was certain that something was bothering her.

"Still on that case?"

"Yea...i'm still sorting it out haha"

Charlie wasn't exactly certain what she was doing on her work desk for the night. But in her current, **frustrated state** , she was sure that she wouldn't be able to meet her deadline for tomorrow or sooner. She needed to explore her options and do fieldwork to gather as much information as possible, just like a flatfoot at work.

She had recent attempts to go in and out of the biggest hidden joints in the city at night with viable clues—unnoticed by the onlookers—all except for Vaggie. On occasional nights, Charlie would arrive to see her guarding the front door like a watchdog with a disappointed expression on her face. And now, _Vaggie was wearing the same expression._

Stilling Charlie for a moment, it took a while for her to recollect her thoughts and come up with an excuse and redirect the conversation. Before she could act something out, Vaggie was one step ahead of her to serve as the voice of reason who refutes her hasty plans. She knew Vaggie could read her from looks alone.

"Don't tell me that you're planning to have another stakeout-speakeasy business because I won't tolerate that risk hun."

Once Vaggie crossed her arms and nodded her head in dismay, Charlie knew that she won't be changing her mind anytime soon to try and stop her. But Charlie's mind is also made up. She needed to conduct her own investigation other than relying on written data alone. If she wanted to escalate and take the case in deeper waters, then she might have to give Rosie's emporium a visit soon.

As much as Charlie wanted to heed Vaggie's warning, it wasn't enough to keep her away from the passion she had built for the work over the years. As stubborn and hard-boiled as it might be, she was always willing to take the risks.

"I would be extra careful when I do, **I promise**. I'm this close to connecting the dots!" Mimicking a small gap between her fingers, Charlie mustered her best to persuade and earn Vaggie's approval.

But nonetheless, Vaggie stood her ground. She can't just let her best friend go in who knows where in the middle of the night. That's _whacky_! She could be any killer's unlucky target, especially now that the existence of a mysterious killer roaming in Louisiana was the highlight of the radio lately—Louisiana or not, they could be anywhere. What are the odds that they might cross paths someday? The thought of it is enough to send _**shivers**_ down her spine.

Reaching out both hands to Charlie's shoulders, she uttered her words firmly, looking at her straight in the eye.

"We know that we cannot rule out the possibility that you won't be safe, hon. Besides, you're an investigative journalist, **not a detective**."

**"B.i.g. D.i.f.f.e.r.e.n.c.e."**

"But Vaggie, this is my gonna be my biggest scoop yet!" Charlie was now ever so determined, a radiant smile gracing her lips.

She just needed a few more hints and clues on the Fallen Veils and their relation to Franklin to tie all her thoughts. She may be stuck about it now, but that isn't enough to stop her from gathering as much intel as she could. Although their real names were unknown, the common people gave them aliases, being Veils: 1, 2, & 3.

If she were to uncover the unsolved case of the killings of the Fallen Veils, her editor might actually consider her to be assigned for the bigger cases, like the recent _Louisiana murders!_ Charlie wasn't exactly driven by fame, but she wanted to deliver accurate information behind all the bogus assumptions that have been made on those crimes. Besides, she's enjoying the thrill of bringing the puzzle pieces altogether.

"This is your agreement with your father, right? He considered your choices but that comes with a condition that **you** won't do any fieldwork, remember?"

Aside from the mere fact that Vaggie was genuinely worried, Lucifer would have her head if he knew about her, letting _his only daughter_ scot-free at night. He wouldn't think twice but to hold her responsible for not tolerating Charlie's actions in the first place.

"I know it's a gamble but I can handle myself. Trust me on this one, please? I solemnly promise to never do it again."

Charlie was begging with so much hope in her eyes and that always struck Vaggie, now she felt like she needed her support more than ever. She knew that it was dangerous but _**crushing Charlie's spirit**_ was also the last thing that she wanted to do. Many people in the station belittle her for the methods she takes in journalism, just because she's never afraid to take extra lengths to explore a case.

She was _**never afraid**_ of the syndicate nor the invisible enemies she had, and that was something Vaggie looked up to. If she wouldn't give her support now, then she was _no different_ than those countless of people who doubt Charlie.

Vaggie raised a brow, testing Charlie's promise further. If she couldn't at least reach an agreement between her and Charlie, then her conscience wouldn't _meet calmer grounds._

"And I promise to stick within my work duties as an investigative journalist." Charlie gave in with a sigh of submission.

Charlie wasn't sure if this was the right way to handle the situation with Vaggie but at least it was over with. She just has to keep her end of the agreement to save Vaggie and her father's sanity—although, she figured that her father would never agree to this as well.

But nonetheless, Charlie was fairly relieved that her father wasn't around to know about her nightly escapades.

"Fine, but not tonight. They announced that it would be raining hard for the evening. Just, please, follow the talking points you and your dad went over." Vaggie reminded her, a small smile on her lips.

"Thanks, Vags" she whispered, enveloping Vaggie into a tight hug.

Vaggie was calmer now and gave in to the affectionate display. Despite the promise Charlie had made, Vaggie still reminded herself to keep a close eye on her companion. Not that she didn't trust Charlie, but she just _**can't trust her in any man's presence.**_

"Just like dad always says, You don't take shit from any _brunos_!" Charlie mused, posing the best imitation of her father that she could muster.

The two ladies emerged in fits of laughter and soon decided to carry on with the dinner they had neglected. With the heavy rain pouring outside, a muffled tune of electro swing music filled their place—extending within the walls of the new alligator in the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that Vaggie and Charlie are introduced, we get to see Charlie's view as a passionate journalist who seems to like bending quite a few rules. (job-wise and daughter-wise :>) While Vaggie exhibit's the same overprotective attitude for Charlie and her sanity's well being.
> 
> Will Charlie find the answers she had been looking for? Who really are the Fallen Veils? and was Franklin's death really their doing? Will Charlie keep her promise to Vaggie? And when will our reclusive radio host come into play??
> 
> Let me know all your thoughts on this! Thank you! :DDD


	3. Maddening Black Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie wants to convince her boss with a new proposition. However, a slip-up with a woman under the watchful eye of a man keeps her under time pressure.

Shuffling the stack of papers on the desk in an organized fashion, Charlie started tidying up her room for a change before leaving for work. Today, she was focused on keeping her mental itinerary about what she would have to say to her editor later about the article concerning _Franklin's death_. Now that Vaggie' was leaning into her favor about her "last" investigative work, it was only natural for her to relay the conspiracy idea of the Veils to the case with the man. It would make her work eggs in coffee flawlessly without anything much to worry about.

The said article was due today and she wasn't entirely satisfied with the digging she had done to write it. Sure she was awake to keep her fingers on her trusty typewriter all night, but she knew that the work she did was just the _tip of the iceberg_.

Relying merely on the data passed down to her was what an average journalist would do, but Charlie was determined to **exceed** that. Besides, the thought of leaving her progress undone on the case's relation to the Fallen Veils **never once** crossed her mind.

Today, she just needed to ask for an extension to expand on the case—If she would succeed in her request, that is. She told Vaggie about this earlier and she was fine about it. In fact, she even offered to accompany and support her later to make it up for suppressing her chances of obtaining clues on the case that night. Charlie was relieved, nonetheless. She wasn't one to easily relay her thoughts into actions or words in front of anyone she was not really close to, or **uncomfortable** with. It was a struggle for her to do, that's why she needed that mental reminder replaying all over in her head, and with Vaggie around, she might pull off such a feat much easier.

She wanted to sound convincing in the "consultation" later. In her head and in her heart she was well prepared, but it _didn't sound well when words left her mouth._

Glancing at the playing card, she grasped it firmly enough to place her faith into it. She just had to take this chance. **She needed this.**

With a final huff, Charlie admired the sprucing up she did. She never really had a knack for cleaning but she felt comfort in seeing her workplace clean and tidy. Besides, it would be a shame if she _**misplaced**_ the important pieces of data and evidence she spent collecting within the month— _overlooking their value and simply tossing it to the trash._

Squishing her cheeks together, she gazed at her appearance in the mirror for the pep talk she needed for today. This was how she liked to start her daily routine before leaving for work _(except for the cleaning part)_. As childish as it might seem, seeing her determined doppelganger staring back at her uplifts her hopes a lot.

"You can do this, Charlie!! Just get it together!" she exclaimed with dashing vigor, swaying finger guns back and forth.

She wasn't gonna let her chances run dry so soon, because she **certainly** wasn't gonna throw away **her shot**. She was a go-getter ever since! _(although a passive one perhaps)_.

After the conditioning mantra and a few breathing exercises, Vaggie barged in the room and dared to ask if she was ready to leave because they were running late. Charlie nearly stumbled upon her own acts and was caught in a moment of embarrassment. Vaggie had always been the early bird and this wasn't a new situation for the two, but Charlie never really got accustomed whenever Vaggie spooks her like that.

Snorting softly, Vaggie was fast on her feet and nearly dragged a twitchy Charlie out, grabbing her bag in the process. "Come on, Charlie!! I don't wanna get on Al's short end on a Monday."

\---

Drumming her fingers on the small-cushioned filing cabinet she sat on, Charlie was nervously— _yet patiently_ —waiting outside the main office. All her thoughts weighed heavily with each passing minute. **She was anxious**. Well, who wouldn't be? Just behind that door lies the person who would approve or disprove her news story.

Her heart was pounding in sync with the way her nails hammered the wood below her. She tried her best to rid of the ill _'what if'_ thoughts with her encounter with Al in there. The man was known for his short temper and that was enough to keep everyone's mouth shut. He was overbearing at times, but Charlie learned to just do her best and never get on the man's nerves.

She never wanted any issue or any trouble that would tie him and Al. If word got out about it to her parents, well, she wouldn't be able to prove herself **capable** of dealing with her personal and business life to them. Or worse, Al would be kicked off his position in an instant. She wouldn't like that—despite her leveled dislike for him. Her parents did help with the expenses with Vaggie, but that's as long as she's allowing them to assist her.

"Al's not around yet—miraculously." Vaggie rolled her eyes as she emerged behind Al's office door.

"O-oh cool beans!"

All the jittery feeling was lost from Vaggie's mere statement. Vaggie was not surprised that Charlie was tense all this time, because even she—herself—felt **a pang of rigid energy** when she twisted the knob towards Al's door earlier. But the absence of the man is not enough of an excuse to simply abandon their work duties for the day. Besides, it was a Monday, everyone was particularly busy with their noses on their typewriters and paper stacks.

Charlie figured that waiting for her boss's arrival would definitely enliven her _alarm bells_ right off the bat. In fact, it wouldn't help her rehearse the talking points she would go over with him that much if she stayed anywhere near his office. She was just bursting with nervous energy, and she needed to ease that away into something else.

As Charlie was caught up in her own thoughts, Vaggie was muttering colorful words once she gauged the height of the towering pile of mail that she had brought in earlier from the station's mailbox. Delivering the incoming mail was part of the _"extra work"_ of Vaggie's daily quota as the station's receptionist. Ever since their company's mail boy, Anthony, retired from the job, the task was included in her **workload**. And that's exactly why she needed to be as early as possible before she started manning the front desk.

Charlie made this as a mental note to let loose of the doss and be ready sooner in the morning for the sake of her friend. The amount of stamped envelopes _alarmed_ Charlie because they never got this many mails in a while. Surely something was cooking in the station lately for them to get these many for the staff.

Abandoning her rapid-fire of thoughts, Charlie helped herself with a load of mail, leaving a few envelopes to whoosh out from her grasp. If she wants to do something with her spare time, she might as well help Vaggie hand out the letters and parcels to their respective recipients.

"In the meantime, do you want me to help you with the mail around the station? I don't think I can actually stay sane and wait for Al to turn up." chuckling nervously, Charlie went over a few names that the letters were addressed to and started sorting them out by designated office floor on her carrying-box.

Vaggie was hesitant but she'd be lying to herself if she were to _dismiss Charlie's assistance_. Quite frankly, taking a tour around the station was a really tiring feat when you're chasing your shift—which involves coming all the way down to the front desk after climbing a flight of stairs.

"That's asking a lot from you but, are you sure? I mean, I could use the extra hand but—"

"Just let me help, okay? I need a breather. I can deal with Al **later**. And this is a great opportunity to get my hands full for er, the next few minutes??"

"I got myself prepared for later. If not, then I'll just have to rely on my impeccable improv skills!"

Sighing inwardly, Vaggie figured she got no time to lose. She knew she needed the blonde's help. But at the same time, Vaggie can't help but fuss over the fact that Charlie would rely on her improvisation skills later. It was indeed a gamble to wing it with Al on such short notice. Still, Vaggie knew Charlie just needed _a little push_ from a friend to get by. She can see how determined and invested Charlie is in this dangerous chase of a case, and crushing her hopes in times like this would _**never end well**_.

With a few shuffling and stacking, the two arranged some parcels and envelopes in their own carrying-boxes. All the while, Charlie was concerned that the boxes might not hold the weight of the mails. Heck, she was sure they were **heavier** than Vaggie and her combined. No wonder Anthony resigned. If Charlie would be doing this every day, she'd think her limbs would fall right off by the time she sets foot on the first flight of stairs.

"Get every mail delivered, then we meet outside Al's office in 10 minutes, alright hon?"

The station was starting to bustle with busy people and sooner or later, Al would come entering the station and be the egg on whoever was slacking off. Neither of them wanted that _**steamed treatment**_ —only to catch them red-handed. It was already half-past seven in the morning and Al usually arrives in the next 10 minutes. So stopping by for a little chat and beating around the bush was not gonna help them get the job done fast.

"Got it!" Charlie's eyes glinted with resolve and heaved the box with little to no effort- for the first few seconds.

"And when I say 10 minutes. I say 10 minutes, **capiche**?"

" **Yes** , madam! Geez, even the Monday vibe's been rubbing you the wrong way. Soon you'll be the next Al." Charlie half-joked. Vaggie was always punctual when it comes to meeting deadlines and Charlie always finds it _amusing_ whenever she acts like the _"boss"_.

Vaggie was baffled from the half insult, she knew Charlie liked fooling around—which is why she gets herself in the most compromising of situations. But in friendly banter, she was usually on the winning end.

"Don't ever compare me to that geezer! **My god Charlie** , just—get on with it!" 

\---

"Just one last letter on the 3rd floor and I'm done," Charlie muttered to herself and discarded the box because it was getting in her way and she wouldn't really need it to carry that _last letter_ —Holding it firmly, she ascended the last flight of stairs.

The station wasn't exactly the biggest building in the city, but it was large enough to accompany a lot of departments that make up the broadcasting services and newspaper publication that their company has to offer.

Being in the investigation department was just a smidge of the whole operation of the company so she never really recognized or had the time to explore the upper floors or the offices outside the writing department. On a better note, she reminded herself to be familiar with the people and the entirety of the workplace if she would be doing this occasionally with Vaggie and if the _"mail boy"_ position would be filled in soon. She hoped for the _latter_ , so as to _ease up_ the _"unpaid"_ extra load Vaggie was covering for.

Strolling around open corridors, she kept her polite nature and made sure to knock on doors first before entering their respective offices. Once it dawned upon them that Charlie was the bringer of mail for the day, they all seemed unhappy about the mere idea of receiving one, well, most of them were **annoyed**. She never took it personally, since she figured that the distressed faces were due to the amount of workload that they were signed in for the day or in the succeeding ones.

Regardless of it all, she also had something to ponder about once she finished delivering the last mail. She wanted to rid all the anxiousness rooted within her and just get over it soon— _the meeting with Al_. And so she did that, with deep breaths she mentally prepared herself and was quick on her feet to search for the last person who addressed the envelope she was holding. It was an odd envelope though because it bore a dark shade of red and a promising wax seal. Judging from the seal and the stunning calligraphy for a _**"Mr. Lacroix"**_ , she guessed it was a _really important_ and _**urgent one**_. Even in her years of handling various paperwork, she never encountered such distinct handwriting.

If there weren't any tags or nameplates hanging on each intersection and plastered on front doors of the offices, she would've been stuck on a trip for biscuits this whole time to find the receiver of the mails. But of course, it wouldn't be that easy to make her _wishes_ bound to her commands. 

Charlie searched far and wide from room to room, but to no avail. The nameplate bearing _**"Mr. Lacroix"**_ was non-existent on the floors she was currently on and even the floors between her bore _no evidence of the unusual name_. She even confronted some employees about the man's whereabouts, but none of them gave her the most appropriate answers—some even _blatantly snubbed her_. If she couldn't find him, she would've guessed the envelope was misplaced when it was delivered? Or she clearly made a brodie when she gathered them in the box? But weirdly enough, the address was on point.

Maybe if she asked Vaggie, she would be recognizing the **man** by chance? She had been working long enough than her to know a few about the employees of the company. Vaggie's also stationed on the front desk, surely she may have heard of the surname _at least once_?

Taking a few more rounds and turns were starting to wear her out and did frustrate her at some point. It was starting to get a little bit packed along the hallways and her sense of urgency for the time was peaking. _She needed to make it on time_. She had approximately 5 minutes left. Not long enough to rehearse her whole agenda for the meeting but it was short enough to make do with her off-script memos.

She found herself breathing heavily in a deserted hallway to take a few breaths. Tight spaces were a problem for her to get by, not because of her form— _mind you!_ —but the **unsettling feeling** of being in a confined space was driving her claustrophobia through the walls. One last visit on the other end of the hallway might be her holy grail, who knows, the man might—

Bless her hurried self, she accidentally **knocked over** a tall woman. Charlie deliberately apologized for her rash actions and she felt ashamed once she had seen the _dilemma_ she caused towards the woman. It was a regrettable scene, **Coffee was spilled** , dousing half of the woman's torso. Although the cup remained half-empty on her grasp, the expression on her face was beyond unreadable.

"K-Katie?!! are y-you alright??" a small man with ash blonde hair exclaimed as he carefully distanced himself from her by the doorway. He looked like he desperately wanted to approach and help, but a _ **foreboding aura**_ from Katie was preventing him to step a mere inch closer. Other employees followed suit and peeked along the hallway in a state of shock and dread.

The woman, Katie, smiled at Charlie for a moment with her narrowed black pupils behind her rosy-rimmed sunglasses, staring down at hers. Charlie was put on a tight spot, she knew she had to _**apologize immediately**_.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss!! I wasn't looking and I-I'm really s-sorry!!"

"Accidents happen, don't fuss about it."

Katie pursed her lips and smiled wryly. Charlie was too caught up in her own words that she almost didn't hear that flat reply from her. Despite that condescending display, it didn't stop Charlie from fumbling over her words and to help the woman with her tight dress. Luckily, she had a handkerchief on her to offer— _ **or not**_.

"But do be careful not to spill my mood too, newbie."

With that snarky comment, Charlie too was _bathed in the bitter drink_ —soaking her tidy short blonde hair sticky as the warm beverage trailed down her working attire. Everyone was aghast from both sides who were eavesdropping on the tense atmosphere. Apart from the overwhelming shock that radiated off Charlie, the prickling anger she had was starting to resurface across her dainty features.

But before Charlie could even whip out a backstabbing reply at the **arrogant woman** , Katie was ahead of her— _literally and figuratively._ She passed by Charlie's stricken figure and stormed off with swift heel-clicking on the floor, shouting _colorful musings_ to everyone coming her way. Katie decided she was done with the scene and never spared a minute or so to look back at Charlie or anyone else for that matter.

And here Charlie thought that there was someone worse than Al. Clearly, this woman earned her role in **arrogant avenue** — _hats off to Katie!_ Admittedly though, she was butter and egg fly, but her inner morals were _nastier_ than Monday itself. Charlie was fuming up inside but she reminded herself to just get her job done other than involving herself in an unprecedented catfight. In fact, she still had a little ounce of sanity left to let her anger fall on deaf ears. Despite the frozen and dumbfounded employees that crowded the hallway, some were kind enough to offer their help with a box of tissues to tidy herself up somehow. Groaning inwardly, she dabbed a few tissues on herself, eyeing the woman with furious resolve. 

"What a pathetic excuse of a media company!" Katie hollered as she descended the stairs, furiously shoving herself within the trench coat that the small man offered as he trailed behind.

"This is why this station needs to permanently shut down, clumsy staff and unaccountable news reports! **What a sham**!! Television is on the rise people!!!"

Although Katie's vehement self was out of the view, her loathsome attitude still _echoed along the walls_ , catching a few more onlookers on her and a **drenched** Charlie.

"Y'all know the drill. Best of luck keeping this shabby building up and running! HAHAHA!— **NOT!** And uh, what she said." her ash-blonde colleague added, before fleeing the place till they were both out of earshot.

The employees were relieved and ceased to attend the absent situation to quickly resume their unattended work. Albeit, _mutterings_ , and _**gossips**_ rang from opposite doorways.

Charlie took a short while to register the seemingly familiar duo, but she was certain that they were **news anchors** she had heard sometime in the past few days. Actually, she had a _hunch_ that they might be the ones causing all the flooded mail they were having—everyone was pressured to keep up with the emergence of visual entertainment since they only had newspapers and radio feeds to offer. From what she had witnessed, the two troublemakers were none other than the c _ontroversial television reporters from 666 news_. They were a **formidable team** but established on _terrible_ grounds. They're people not to mess with. Painstakingly, Charlie took it terribly.

Now that the scene was over with, Charlie felt a tremendous wave of worry wash over her. Then it struck her like lightning.

She was **dead**.

With the splash of coffee stains on her, the chances of making herself presentable _went down the drain_. She still needed to deliver the letter! Fortune wasn't on her side today, but at least the envelope remained clean and tucked aside.

Making haste, she attempted to salvage what's left of her blouse. She wasn't necessarily _clean_ and professional-looking after that mess, but to **hell** with it. She still needed to work and not to be a curve to Vaggie on a task she, herself, clearly brought upon herself.

_Mr. Lacroix..._

_Just where is this man...??_

Frustrated, Charlie sat on a nearby cushioned seat. She had 2 minutes left to lose. She can just deal with it later after she sees Al, _right?_ She has a lot of time in her hands after meeting him. Also, there's the possibility that Vaggie may be of help to locate the owner of the letter. If not, then she'll have it over the reception with Vaggie to cover until someone picks it up.

Smiling sheepishly, she mustered what little resolve she had left to face the day head-on. Charlie wasn't a pushover, nor a stupid woman but she knew about the stories everyone told _**behind her back**_. Yes, she was a **very** compassionate gal but not everyone can be appeased from acts or faces alone. This is why she wanted to start from scratch on her own—to _prove_ herself that she deserves a _chance_ to shed a little light that she would make it and aspire to be a _great journalist_ one day. Someone who doesn't take _**shit**_ from anyone—just as how her father always told her.

So even if her chances are dimming every day, she wouldn't have made this far by giving up, _right?_

But firstly, she needed to do something more about her current appearance. _**Curse that arrogant woman!**_ Charlie was really looking forward to giving her a piece of her **wrath** once she sees her again. It's only a matter of time before it would happen, especially if the crew was frequent around the building and the media industry. Clearly, Charlie has found an _odd spiced-anger_ to fuel up her passion in a higher notch, and she **liked** it.

A trip back home was impossible to dry herself up in a jiffy. So it was her last resort but to just hope for the best and settle for a quick trip to the washroom.

Just as she was about to take her leave, her peripheral caught her in a shocked trance whence she saw that a **man** was watching her from behind the office blinds opposite her all this time, observing her with an ever-present _grin on his face_.

The man blinked and cackled once it dawned upon him about the peculiarity of the situation he manifested or appeared towards the dame and clicked his door open in a blink to welcome her in his presence.

"My my....that's quite a scene you had there, _ma cherie_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAaa bacC Pain
> 
> This has been my longest chapter yet and I'm totally stoked that I managed to pull this off so late in the night! xD 
> 
> Anyways, The man of the hour is now afoot with our dearest Charlie! owo 
> 
> Will Charlie succeed in earning the favor of resuming her work for another few days? When would she get her hands on Katie? xD And how will our main man take part in this whirlwind of events??
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! <3


	4. Abyssinia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie acquaints herself with Alastor a little longer than expected. Her boss wasn't very much pleased.

Charlie was perplexed to be invited into the man's office right away—she was even skeptical. She knew that time was a ticking bomb hanging above her now, but she couldn't really say no when it came to pleasantries. Besides, her feet were sore at the soles of her stilettos. Wearing the damned footwear was not a very wise choice for long-hurried trips around the building, but it did give off the professional feel—woefully, with swollen costs.

The man held the door open wide before closing it discreetly, his jovial aura never leaving his body as he pulled a seat for Charlie opposite him. Charlie never wasted any moment but to partly slip her stilettos away from her feet and make herself comfortable once she landed on the soft matting of the chair—with crossed gams. And just like that, all her remaining itinerary for the day **vanished** within thin air as she gave in to the man's invitation as if it was a siren's call. Surely, Vaggie wouldn't mind if she spared a minute or so to rest and take this opportunity, right?

Comfortable enough she was, Charlie's eyes began to wander and take in the appearance of the man. If Charlie were to describe him, he was well-dressed in his red-pinstripe coat. Too fancy to even be considered part of the company's regular employees— _so he was certainly not from around town_. And his office was neat and bleak, newly refurbished but lacking basic ornaments and posters, except for his well-kept desk where a skull paperweight held the small stack of papers—its hollow sockets trained on her. _Charlie shivered at the peculiar choice of display_. The man's flickering amber eyes and patented smile radiated an aura that fell in between friendly and ominous behind his thin spectacles.

Aside from everything she had observed so far, Charlie assumed that he recently settled down in the office, and compared to him, Charlie was a **mess** , and it was not even her working hours yet—The idea made her conscious of her own appearance, and it **tensed** her up. A lady should look proper and decent before fine gentlemen like him. But alas— _this wasn't one of those days._

"A terrible one, that Killjoy...Oho! Putting on a scene this early in the morning on my behalf?! Why color me amused!" he guffawed to himself as he slid some papers on his office drawer.

It never occurred to Charlie that this man would be more amused than sorry from the mess of events earlier. She was perplexed and quite agitated from his words— _not the fine gentleman she was expecting he was at first glance_.

The man continued on rambling about the coffee catastrophe as he took occasional strides around. Charlie's mood **dimmed bitterly** at the mere mention of Katie, but she tried to shimmy that down even if the topic itself was stimulating her enraged once again.

Charlie had no idea or clue why the man even bothered to invite her in such a state. He only bombarded her with his commentaries about the mishap from outside his office earlier. It did cause quite a stir, but most of the employees and onlookers were spooked enough to immediately flee the scene.

"I apologize for her stubborn acts...she isn't very fond of... _tattling_ _with me_.."

Extending his hand, he fetched Charlie, some city juice from a nearby tin pitcher. Charlie took it and gave a silent nod of gratitude before emptying half of its contents in one swig.

She never really knew why Katie and her crew was around or what happened before the scandalous scene. Still, since this man had previously had an exchange with her, it might've caused the hot-headed squabble she overheard earlier, and Charlie was **unlucky** enough to have ignited her flames. But she already had a hunch that Katie's presence was _terrible news for the company_ itself.

Although Charlie was hesitant to admit that they were right about the building being on the brink of bankruptcy ever since television emerged, she was still hopeful enough to do better on her part to save it and its employees from the likes of Katie. And that's precisely the reason why she had to make a big scoop—The Fallen Veils _**might be her chance**_ to keep everything in tip-top shape!

Feeling relieved more than ever in that little seat, she finally finds her voice to speak up. 

"It's nothing I couldn't handle. But thanks for letting me in your office even if I made such a mess."

Embarrassing as it was, the man paid no mind about her current appearance and was modest enough to offer her a glass of water to, at least, make her feel attended. And for once today, she actually felt at ease. She needed a break from running to and fro across the floors of the building. It was an arduous task, after all.

"If she was still around, she would've had a taste of her own medicine... That's for sure..." Charlie bitterly muttered to herself, accusing the glass with a heated gaze as if it were Katie.

"Nonsense my dear! It's quite a pleasure to see new faces every once in a while! It's a charm to meet you...miss??" Extending a hand, he anticipated an urgent answer.

Cautiously, Charlie shook his hand with uncertainty.

"Charlotte... but uhm...Charlie would do."

"Mr. Lacroix! You might have heard me on-air as your esteemed radio host for the time being! I look forward to making business with you."

Although the name was a fuzz in her head, she almost berated herself for not recognizing the iconic voice sooner—aside from being the recipient of the letter, he was so much more than that. This man was none other than _the voice of Louisiana! **Alastor!**_ —A young lad who took the broadcasting business by storm. If she were to connect some dots, his presence is enough to be the company's trump card to evade its own downfall from the news anchors on the telly. Now that he's here, their broadcasts would aim high! From its looks, this was a bulge on their part but not for Katie and her crew. Now she understood why they had been receiving mails lately— _everyone wanted a glimpse of him and spread the word in a **flash**._

Quite stupefied at this sudden revelation, Charlie admitted that he was the spitting image of a fine gentleman. Charlie's mind continued to wander as she carefully took mental notes of his physical features when his hand cupped her small ones. His hands were calloused and firm to the touch, compensating for his lean stature. With that in thought, he was undoubtedly someone who spent his life in hard-earned-work. Making assumptions was a perk going on in that curious mind since she was always keen and meticulously searching for the smallest details. After all, it was part of her stepping stones in investigative work. But sometimes, her facial expression was a **dead giveaway** with what's going on in her head. And it usually gave off the _**wrong signals**_.

Planting a chaste kiss on the underside of her palm, Charlie's face reddened at the sudden act—sending her reeling in flustered panic from within. She whipped her eyes away from him, pursed her lips in embarrassment from eyeing the man for too long.

On the other hand, the monsieur's grin never faltered and remained modest yet intrigued to know more about his guest. The riot that Katie and her crew pulled off this morning was a fiasco to behold for him. It surprised him to already see some action on his first Monday morning in town—even seeing that woman was something he **least** expected, but seeing Katie lashing out her wrath on someone else was new. She wasn't exactly a friend in his book, but rather a thorn on his side, even in Louisiana.

It was classic entertainment even for him, but his chivalrous morals defied him when he saw the victim of the incident—Charlie. Oddly standing by to watch everything unfold was not gallant at all, but that was because he was bewildered. Once he saw how well she handled herself after the scene—from _helpless and enraged_ to **hell-bent** **determined** , something about her quick resolve and restraint _surprised him_. He couldn't put his finger on it yet, but he was confident that she would be of big help to him in his future endeavors. Everything happened so quickly, and what is the next best way to help the damsel but to invite her over for a chat and a drink?—and so he did. He was a gentleman after all—not a perfect example but a fitting one in the eyes of his late mother.

"Oh!! That reminds me. Here's your mail for the day! I had a hard time finding you around in these parts but I guess you found me instead." Charlie's eyes lit up in sudden realization, followed by a satisfied sigh as she retrieved the letter she tucked aside and handed over the letter that's been causing her so much trouble.

Caught up in her own world, she had forgotten that she now faced the man she was searching for. On second thought, she was lucky that she stumbled outside his office by chance. Maybe encountering that spiteful woman _wasn't half bad after all_.

Taking the envelope, Mr. Lacroix's uppity demeanor changed, and glanced at it with disinterest before quickly slipping it under his filing cabinet.

So not everyone appreciates receiving mail on a Monday. Not a first, but Charlie was curious to know what's _inside the envelope_ that even someone like this man would deny skimming it over with.

"I apologize for the inconvenience. As you might have observed, I'm still getting used to this new arrangement." The man's voice toned down a bit, finding solace to claim his seat behind the desk. 

It had only been yesterday night when he was escorted by Husk to the antique shop, and drinking in all the memories that remained in there was something _**he never wished to dwell on**_. You could say that it kept him up at night, so resting was inevitable. Sleep was never a problem for him, but then again, he's still human—despite the punctuality he had set for this day, he still had lingering thoughts of last night in mind and his... **activities** as of late.

Aside from that, he did have an earful from the news anchors about his arrival. They were not clearly happy about it, but it might be because he was a worthy rival in the broadcasting business, and his presence only meant a challenge or an obstacle for them.

"I hope you're enjoying your stay so far! It's not always this messy around here...just on Mondays." Charlie beamed, now turning the conversation around for an apology on behalf of whatever trouble the man had witnessed. Being stationed for the first load of paperwork was a pain, and she guessed that it was an additive factor for Mr. Lacroix's troubles.

"If you needed any help, you can reach me in the investigative department and our receptionist, Vagatha, will be very happy to assist you!"

Although the offer was bold of her to suggest when her hands are full at the moment, she was just bashto repay the man's bizarre assistance. She may not be of help to him at the moment, but she thought that she can show him around town sometime because even the idea of strolling around and dancing along with jazz tunes in a clip jointwas a delightful treat to her—That is once her hands are _free_ _and untied of all worries_.

"I look forward to that. But a fine dame such as yourself must not carry the burden of a messenger! It just isn't fitting!" Shaking his head in slight disapproval, he mused with Charlie.

"O-oh nonono! I just happened to get around and be the mailman for today."—And she already had enough of the job, even if it was just a favor she did for Vaggie.

"And the company needed extra help since we're currently lacking in numbers for the job, Sir." she rambled on.

"Drop the modesty, darling. Please just call me, Alastor."

Under his piercing gaze, Charlie saw it unusual to address him as just "Alastor." She still felt somewhat uncomfortable around him since she just met him. She couldn't read what he had set in his mind—she couldn't quite tell. It's as if his expressions were _detached_ from what goes on in his mind.

As if on cue, a fidgety boy excused himself in.

"M-mr. Lacroix, we....w-we need you in the s-studio!! We're on air s-soon...!" The man chimed in. Alastor dismissed him with a wave before the boy hurriedly excused himself out.

Charlie was not expecting Alastor to start right away on such short notice, but then a man in his status clearly has a lot of demands. And she, too, has a few things on her plate.

"Ah, would you look at that...how unfortunate our meeting was cut short..."

"We all have places to be, It's quite alright." She said, almost losing her footing once she slipped on her stilettos.

Both leaving their respective seats, Charlie couldn't help but notice the nasty scars on Alastor's limbs—once he started taking off his coat to roll up his white sleeves, elbow high. Upon sight, she wanted to ask what had caused such marks. But that would be too forward of her— _and it wasn't the right time to be nosing about._

"Surely you won't go out looking like that..?" it sounded almost like a rhetorical question on her part.

"I'll m-manage."

Even if she tried to dry the collars of her blouse, the stains have already made their mark. She has no other choice but to deal with it till the meeting en—

Chancing a glance at the wall clock, she almost **paled**. She was behind the clock for _**another 10 minutes!**_ Vaggie won't be happy that she literally swept their meeting under the rug for Alastor. The alibi itself sounded even worse with a man involved, and she knew it was just not enough of an excuse to blatantly leave her friend. Even if she was met by a terrible incident with coffee this morning, she couldn't just say no to his offer—her hands were tied once he invited her over.

Panicking, she absentmindedly grabbed Alastor's hands in an attempt to shake it as thanks.

"I-I'M LATE!! IT WAS NICE MEETING YOU, ALASTOR!! T-THANK YOU!! ABYSSINIA!!B-BYE!"

Slamming the door shut, Charlie ran her way out, albeit flimsily apologizing to everyone who walked opposite her as she accidentally nudged a few shoulders to clear her way out to the stairs.

Alastor blinked from her sudden departure and watched quizzically as he stepped by the doorway. He never really liked it when anyone _grabbed him_ or invaded his personal space, but it was a hasty moment to even care. Although it was a fleeting touch, the warmth from her hands was so full of life that it lingered onto his cold ones. Never in his life was he able to feel someone's touch again, and it provoked something from within him that _didn't settle **right**_ **.**

"Abyssinia soon...Charlotte" 

\---

"EXCUSE ME!! COMING THROUGH!"

Accidentally pushing a few people aside, Charlie's mind was racing as she mustered her best to ascend the top floor of the building—outside Al's office where Vaggie was supposed to be waiting for her. Cussing a few words on her way, her adrenaline skyrocketed when she took a turn on the last wing to see an infuriated Vaggie—pinching the bridge of her nose.

"All I asked for was 10 minutes, Charlie. 10 FUCKING MIN-"

All her anger was thrown out of the window once she examined Charlie's messy state—her motherly instincts kicking in as she scrambled her hands, attempting to make Charlie's collar wrinkle-free.

" **OH DIOS MÍO!!!** W-WHAT HAPPENED?! WHO DID **THIS** TO YOU??!"

"Some news anchor... It's complicated—but there's no time to explain!! I'm late!"

Telling Vaggie about all the whirlwind of events that transpired from the past 15 minutes wouldn't benefit either of them. Charlie knew that telling her would only risk her friend's sanity, and she cannot take that risk and draw in more attention. Also, she had enough of letting any distractions dampen her goal for the day. She had been practicing and encouraging herself before they even stepped right into the building, and she wouldn't let it all loose. Aside from that, the quick stop in Alastor's office was of big help in calming her nerves— _even if it was just for a few minutes_. Maybe she might offer the man a simple token as gratitude once this was all over with. Yes, she was a mess, but for all, she cares! She just wanted to get her way through Al— _reasonably_ —before she can fully carry on. This was her **last,** _**difficult obstacle**_ , and she was hurling herself into it with no reigns of anxiety to hold her back.

Gathering her oxblood leather handbag and some important case files with her, Charlie faced her lady friend with her lips pressed into a thin line—asking a silent affirmation from Vaggie before entering the office. 

"Wait hold on, before you go in. Use this—it would help." Vaggie reassured before unraveling her own scarf and wrapping it neatly on Charlie to hide most of the horrid coffee stains.

"Thanks for this, Vaggie." Said Charlie, smiling underneath the burgundy scarf. Vaggie's presence meant a lot to her. Seeing her face before entering the office of madness was her holy grail and spike of determination. She was _really blessed_ enough to have her around.

"You got this. Now knock 'em dead—figuratively."

Taking a few sharp inhales, Charlie prepared herself while Vaggie kept her eyes trained on Charlie until she disappeared within the room. It was a rare occasion for their boss to be in good spirits and it was only a matter of time before Al would pass on his **final judgment** on Charlie, and Vaggie had her fingers crossed if luck would be on their side or not—Hopefully, _it won't be the latter._

\---

"Please, take a seat," A stubby old man signed—busy attending a dil-ya-ble.

Swallowing the lump on her throat, Charlie carefully pulled herself a seat—not too close but keeping a foot or two of distance from the man. Apart from the smell of the cigarette smoke caged within the office, the tense atmosphere dawned upon her as seeing her boss's sketchy scowl— **growing** —his patience _dimming_ as he held the line.

The man had a troubling aura around him, and it was tense while he started to twist the telephone cable out of boredom and impatience. Waiting was cut short once his fist slammed hard across the table and started reprimanding the person on the other end of the line.

Charlie didn't mean to eavesdrop in the heated conversation, but she took the subtle signs of venom in Al's voice that he was _downright livid_.

"—DO WHATEVER YOU MUST TO GET THAT WOMAN OFF THE DAMN BUILDING'S PREMISES!! IF YOU CAN'T DO YOUR JOB RIGHT, THEN I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO HAVE YOU FIRED!! GOT THAT??!" hanging up, he slammed the handle down and took even breaths and massaged his temples to compose himself back to his sanity.

_When would she start to talk?_ **She never knew.** But she can take the hint that she has to be _really careful_ to handle rational conversations with her boss—especially during his most vulnerable state. She was walking on thin ice, and it won't be long before Al breaks under pressure.

His troubled expression vanished and replaced with a blank one—raising a brow to signal Charlie to state her business in his office quickly.

"I'm sorry for calling this meeting on such short notice. I know this is a bad time to be asking you this but if you'll hear me out i—" Charlie began rambling.

"Time is gold. Everything comes at a price...right, Charlie?" Al cut her off, igniting his cigar alight.

Mentally cursing at her amateur mistake, she tried to recollect her composure.

"Well yes..." uncertainty laced her words.

His silence nagged Charlie's burning need to get ahead of herself and just run her mouth. It's as if blurting out words would greatly influence his judgment of what she wanted to convey to him—only _to fail_ and **fall** into his bidding. However, Charlie wanted to test that and sound firm on this one.

"—but this time, I have some vital information that would be of help for the company that would surely pay off!! I have gathered some promising intel from Rosie's Emporium and it—"

"So every ounce of it must be spent wisely" he cut her off once again. His mind was undoubtedly elsewhere because he listens to Charlie—only to talk back and _make her **swallow** her own words_.

Leaning on his desk, he continued.

"Now tell me, Charlie dear...arriving 10 minutes late, picking a fight with Killjoy, pursuing a leadless case...Are those really, times well spent?"

If she were, to be honest, being 10 minutes late wasn't so bad since she had quite a relaxing time with Alastor—but of course, she had no intention of saying that out loud. Heck, she wasn't sure how to respond to that even if it sounded like a rhetorical query adorned with sarcasm. This is how he maneuvers conversations with his employees— _cutting them off_ and _**shoving them back down**_. But little did Alfred know that she will be upfront on the case.

"Yes...and no?? but we can always **compromise!** I'm positive that this will work out. We just need to find some witnesses and then—"

"MS. MAGNE! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF—TIME AND TIME AGAIN THAT WE MUST MEET THE DEADLINE!" he roared.

Charlie was having none of it. She pulled the case files she had been keeping and shoved it on his desk.

"But if you would just listen! Please...this might be the biggest story yet!" she reasoned.

Sighing exasperatedly, Alfred's tone went stern, and gave Charlie a disapproving nod.

"I already gave you the chance to expand on the case on your own, but according to my connections...You have been **straying out** of your duties yet again and I cannot tolerate that act any further."

Sure, she may have been leaning on her "unique" methods again, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it should be overlooked. She was presenting them the clues without as much of an effort to pay—and all she's asking for is for him to _**listen**_.

"But Franklin's death! It was the work of the—"

"The Fallen Veils? Please! that's just **preposterous!!** Cracking their involvement is nothing but a lost cause!" he scoffed, starting to take his leave.

"I have the evidence to prove it!"

Clenching her fists, Charlie was getting restless. She had never planned to tell them about the existence of the important evidence so soon, but if that would deliver the final blow and finally shut his trap then _**so be it**_.

Stopping in his tracks, a mocking smile graced his blackening lips.

"And the existence of this said evidence is...where exactly?"

Not a moment to lose, she began skimming through the contents of the folder to find the familiar photograph of the playing card. But the odds were against her once again. Rummaging through her handbag, panic began consuming her. _She was certain she clipped it somewhere!_

"It's g-gone?! I must have left it back home! But I was certain that I—"

"Thought so...Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lunch meeting to attend to." Turning a heel, he eagerly reached for the door. 

"P-please just give me another chance!! I will **prove** that they are responsible for this case! Just one more day... "

It had a sour aftertaste to plead in front of her prick of a boss but she was getting desperate. She had a very promising lead in her hands and it was suspicious that the investigation team neglected something as crucial as one of the Fallen Veil's playing cards! She never wanted to doubt anyone in their team for orchestrating a different story, but it almost seemed _**too convenient**_ for them to assume that Franklin killed himself.

"You are removed from Franklin's case. Let the professionals deal with the rest of the work. Besides, you have to get that case file updated...Rosie was his killer."

Bewildered at the sudden revelation and her eviction from the case, she was aghast that none had informed her that she was falling behind!! An investigative journalist heavily needed feedback from the team— **The nerve**!! This is why she had to be her detective and take bigger leaps for the case. Nonetheless, she didn't think Rosie killed him. Why else was the Card aimlessly lying around?? The Veils or not— _It still had something to do with the criminal ring!_

"B-but!—"

"I know, right...? Killing her husband?! Why...that woman has guts!" Alfred guffawed, caught up in his thinking.

"Carry on now, before I permanently relinquish your position in the investigative department. We need journalists, **not detectives** ," he warned, holding a cold stare on Charlie and he meant it.

At this point, her enthusiasm was robbed of her. She was determined but she knew when to fall back if her dream work was on the line. Her father allowed her to settle for being a journalist instead of being a full-blown detective or investigator, and she was still gonna hold on to that little condition— _even if it costs her badly._ Maybe Vaggie was right, she should've ended her nightly pursuits. Only then, the chances of her conversation with Alfred might've created fruitful results. Or so...s _he was just **not good enough** as she thought she was._

"And when you show yourself in this building...consider looking more...

Eyeing her from head to toe, he was searching for the right word.

— **decent**." He snickered, ridiculing the remnants of black coffee stains that tangled her hair in a sticky situation.

"Yes...sir..." Charlie let out a defeated sigh, her mind but a blank slate of resignation.

Yanking the door wide open for her, Charlie gathered her things and sulkily walked her way out.

"Although..." Alfred pondered, halting Charlie.

"I think I have a much **better job** in store for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I feel bad for Charlie, oof. Luck isn't really on her side lately, I wonder if that would change- 
> 
> What will Alastor do in future chapters? Will he be of help to Charlie or not? owo
> 
> Also, don't forget the fact that the bastard Albert dampened her determination! *smacks the man* She needed the playing card, but where is it? 
> 
> Did someone take it...? :0
> 
> Or did our lovable and clumsy Charlie just misplaced it somewhere? and what is this job that Albert had in mind for our dearest Charlie? Could it quite possibly be worth more than the intriguing clues she found about the Fallen Veils in relation to Franklin's death? That, I leave to y'all to think about! :>
> 
> Shameless segue:  
> (Honestly, I never thought I'd find the urge to publish here on ao3 given that I can't even woop my lazy ass to write in one sitting. But thanks to my self-nagging, I managed to create a fic for this adorable duo! Not to mention you, readers, who have stuck and supported me for the last 4 chapters! ;;;; 300+ readS?? my weak hart can't take it AAAaaaAAA Thank you so much!!! ;v; A huge thanks to all of you out there who take their time to pour some kudos and love into this work!! <33)


	5. Tightrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaggie meets a familiar face back at work. She isn't very pleased but saying that would be an understatement after clashing with Katie.

Flicking the fountain pen as it rolled down the inclined desk, Vaggie remained **antsy** on her post as she took shifty glances on the stairway in between her short breaks. It hasn't been long since she bid Charlie good luck on her fateful meeting with Alfred, but her worry was _nagging the recesses of her mind_. It was keeping her half occupied to rid of the pending workload presented before her. Once she saw the mess of appearance Charlie had earlier, her concern began reaching **motherly levels** to find the culprit. Charlie mentioned that it was the doing of a news anchor, but Charlie decided to spare her the details. Vaggie was very eager to hear the rest of her story but she opted to pry about it later since Alfred was waiting. Even if a thousand “what ifs” behind that door was itching her uncomfortable, she knew that she had to settle for keeping her best composure as a clerk.

People clambered the building, may it be news people or passerbys—they were all focused on accomplishing a task well done early on. And she can't have herself set off in a _ **trance so aimlessly**_ pondering about as time flies by.

Nose on the logbook, Vaggie continued scribbling the names of the callers and ran her finger on endless lists. She tried her best to sound courteous to her clients on the other end of the line, but it was becoming a **taxing feat** when testy pranksters or madmen hold the line for a minute or two before spewing _incoherent nothings_. Yes, she also had those people around. It did invalidate every digging she had done to offer her services to them and find the right people for them. But alas, a person can only take so much maltreatment. You could say she had her shortcomings and it ended unwell on her salary. Sometimes she wished that she had a long stick of _patience_ or maybe even had a better grip of her fiery temper just like Charlie.

Now handling the switchboard, she redirected several impatient callers to the employees of the company to discuss their matters with.

With the sudden boom of television, society shifted fast to discover the new innovation and it was a _major decline_ for the company. All their earnings and support were limited so it was already expected to seldomly or almost never receive any good news. The distribution of quality content for the people was even harder.

Things were going dim for the economy lately. Heck, the whole station was grasping for better news airings—even the local or mundane day-to-day stories were in line for consumption if things went downhill. If only their content—radio broadcasts or newspapers—were selling like hot buns, then **brighter days** would come. Vaggie deeply wished for those days to come by. Even though the Magne family had helped her manage the necessities she needed, she was still firm on her decision to pay for those on her own.

Vaggie’s nose wrinkled once a brusque man with a substantial amount of facial hair slammed a parcel on the desk.

“Seems like you’ve been busy.”

“‘Been taking newcomers around the city all morning. So yes, I'm **VERY** busy myself.” Sarcasm laced his voice, eyes cold as he handed the clipboard for Vaggie to sign.

She took it without hesitation and scribbled away before taking the parcel away.

It wasn’t only her who was fairly dissatisfied this whole morning it seems. Husk was a man with a couple of shifts to cover for day and night. Although it wasn’t obvious, the gruff man had a _heart of gold_ under that stern facade.

The man excused himself and took a quick trip in the public restroom, leaving Vaggie to hang on to the hastily kept clipboard and resume her filing work behind the desk. Taking deep breaths, she had her mind set to just get it all over with because her sanity was pleading for a quick break before she finally _**loses her cool**_ —and the heat was not helping at all despite the rain, flooding the streets yesterday night.

“Hiya toots. Can you look up a Mista Carl for me?” Clearing his throat, elbows closed in on the counter.

And here she thought that things couldn’t get any _worse_.

"Hey, I don’t mean ta rile ya up or somethin...but ya should’ve considered working someplace else. This place reeks of plain boredom if ya ask me.” he whistled dryly.

Deadpanned, she blinked furiously and took a double-take before addressing the familiar freckled face under the sunglasses. 

“A-Anthony…??!"

"Wha- j-just...what are you doing here?!” Vaggie whisper-yelled.

Of all the colorful set of words that Vaggie had in store for him, her mind alarm spelled only **'trouble'**. She was expecting to achieve a little bit of inner peace for the rest of the day, but with the current flash of sass that this person was in for—

It was surely gonna be a **long day** ahead of her.

“It's Angel dust now, babe. ‘Gotta say, that’s sum handsome looking fella over there. Does he swing by often?” Tilting his sunglasses halfway down, his eyes swerved on Husk—top to bottom as the man emerged from a hallway.

Husk kept a rigid demeanor and paid no attention to Angel’s ogling daydream. Vaggie only silently prayed for Angel to save his troubles as far away as he could, because she certainly isn’t up for a _scandalous scene_ to handle today—more or less from her effeminate companion. Actually, she was very much eager to kick him out of the building, but she pushed that idea aside to give him a chance to further state his business. But alas, what more could she expect? He certainly has other **side agendas** in mind aside from his main motive. And knowing him, he was an opportunist at its finest—and a crass and flirty one too.

“Hello baby~ Say, are ya free?” His slender limbs hovered around Husk.

Earning the bearded man's attention, Husk flashed a disgusted look, appalled at the lascivious display.

“Cuz ya got yourself a bumpy ticket ride with me ta-night. I promise I won’t bite ya~”

“Go fuck yourself”

“Only if ya watch me, shnookums~”

Husk pried Angel’s wandering arms in disgust and gruffly snatched his belongings from Vaggie and hastily left the building without hesitation.

“Huh...yer loss!” Angel called out, much to his slight disappointment.

At least it was safe to say that Husk is a stern and immovable person, if it were a lanky and scrub employee—the whole scene would **lean** into Angel’s favor. Maybe that’s what happened to Carl in the first place.

But that didn't stop him from pestering Vaggie about Husk's whereabouts. Unfortunately, her tongue slipped his name, but that’s the last of him that Angel’s going to hear from her. Earning nothing but a flat set of noes from his every query, Vaggie still had her paperwork and other people to assist. Having Angel flicking his business about with suggestive smirks was _driving her clients away_ and her boss wouldn’t be **pleased to know**.

“Tell him ta hit me up and pay a visit to the club if he ever changes his mind."

Sashaying the so-called “business” card on her face, Vaggie snatched it and put it somewhere underneath the desk for safekeeping, of course, she was just _playing along_. She hasn't seen him in a while and his new glad rags and gimmick was a real 180 turn for her—if someone was going to wear a pastel summer shirt on a rainy season, then it’s gonna be _**Angel**_ —but despite all the makeover, his flamboyant attitude still remained intact.

While Angel continued running his mouth on sensual comments about the **“plans”** he had for this evening, Vaggie began rubbing her temples in circles.

Disinterested, she asked. “What else do you want.”

If she wasn’t gonna be direct to him, the one-sided conversation might end up in who knows what. Also, slacking off would _snuff out the remaining pay_ she’d receive.

“Eh. Said Carl gotta pay the price. I ain't falling short on a few bucks with a bod like this! Ya catch my drift, right?” he rambled on, squinting here and there in attempts of catching Carl’s presence.

A few eyes stole glances at the loudmouthed Angel. Yeah, Angel didn’t mind having people stare him down quizzically, but Vaggie was walking on deep waters. Given that a lot of people are taking notice of them, it wouldn't be too long till it reaches **Alfred**.

“Do you think that you could just waltz in here like that??! Al would **kill** you or worse!”—she accused—” **cut me off** my job here!" Yet again, she whisper-yelled—now with heavy urgency behind her words.

“Pshh! nahh...I won’t be a bothah.” He snickered and somehow, he found the logbook interesting as he skimmed through a few pages.

She snatched it away as swiftly as he had held it, glaring daggers at him.

“Besides, that man’s days are soon ta be outnumbered. With a temper like his?? I bet he’ll blow up worse than the stock market crash, babe.” he whistled softly, fishing a small lollipop he’d been saving in his shirt pocket. 

That must be the most amusing thing she had heard from him. As cumbersome as it is, she still found the statement about Alfred worthy of praise—even if it meant ridiculing him. Maybe, just maybe, Angel and she had a peculiar mutual dislike for the man. Anyways, it isn’t enough of an excuse for the **bitter shared history** they had in work.

“Well thanks to **YOU**. I have other duties on my plate! and it's not even my mess to clean.”

To this day, Vaggie kept asking herself why she had simply let Angel lose and _take the blame_ for something she was **accused** of. Now she was still ‘ **shelling out’** the consequences of his actions. Charlie had, well, received a different story from Vaggie. Besides, telling her about it would only make her worry.

“Hay! It’sh nhat entirely mhay fshault.” he rambled on, inaudibly.

Vaggie had her brows raised, half-annoyed as she silently egged him on.

Popping the finished sweet treat free, he pondered. "Well I-I guess…? There wuz ta liquor and ta sorting…"

Ah yes… Vaggie remembered those as clear as day. Most of the letters in for the day got **‘magically** ’ doused with bootlegged liquor in the mailroom. Every letter was soaked, blurring out the existence of ink. And guess who was spot-on blamed? **Her, of course,** —Just because Angel disposed of the liquor bottles haphazardly in her locker room.

Ain't it a pretty solid setup?

"I had a rough night but hehe…those were good times…"

Angel guessed that those weren't the right words to say because Vaggie was glaring at him silently the whole time. 

The latina was silent, most likely brewing another **storm** inside that head of hers.

"W-Whatever! I wasn't sober alright...? Cut me some slack will ya? ‘Sides, tis not a big deal, pshhh!" he chuckled, fanning his hands away—feigning ignorance.

Deep inside, he felt the **guilt** for making Vaggie go through all the trouble for him, but something in him was stopping him from uttering the words _' I'm sorry'_ out of his mouth. Maybe it just wouldn't sound sincere as he thought it would. He was such a wuss for comforts and apologies. If he isn’t running on the clock, he might offer a simple token of peace instead—Yeah, he’ll definitely do that sometime.

“Plus, this block of flats can't keep up with ta other biz top dogs! Whaddya want me ta do? Ask for it?”—he squinted—” **Beg** for it? ‘Gotta put this bod ta good use where da pay’s loaded. And I ain’t workin my ass off just ta be some mailboy!” he yapped, dusting the figurative dust off himself.

Stealing a quick look on the desk mirror, he ruffled his hair back—smirking at his reflection.

“Gotta live up with taday’s standards, ya know?”

Snapping the pencil in half from Vaggie's vice grip, she was starting to reach her limit.

“ **WHY YOU** —”

“Don’t get yer tacos in a twist, sheesh! It’s not like I’m lying.” he rolled his eyes and began rummaging into the counter, testing hard luck to find drinks as he moved his hand across and toppled a few papers and whatnot beside Vaggie.

“Where do ya keep the good stuff at?”

If Vaggie wasn’t gonna disclose his “client’s” whereabouts, then he might as well put his visit to good use. A good drink or two of alcohol was as good as water—in his opinion.

His search was uneventful—only finding a few juice boxes and a half-eaten tamales. Shrugging, he snagged the juice box away and slurped loudly, seemingly enjoying himself. Perhaps liquor was just out of reach, especially in this place and Vaggie wouldn't be that careless to let history repeat itself. She _learned her lesso_ n firsthand.

Meanwhile, Vaggie remained bug-eyed.

Angel’s being a total ass to her right now, and it wasn’t looking good. Her anger began boiling inside her again, threatening to escape and lash out at him. But she knew better than to do that. Charlie’s friendly reminder from long ago momentarily flashed before her vision. Closing her eyes, she began taking calculated breaths as Charlie had taught her. It was her breathing exercise to prevent her from doing something that she **might** regret soon. Surprisingly, her episodic madness is what brought them together. As ridiculous as it is, yes, it was how they met.

Angel’s slurping was cut short, “Eh? What’s that bitch doing in here?”

Reeling back, Vaggie eyed the ruckus emerging down the hall, completely zoning out from Angel's monologue.

“Clearly looking for a heap of trouble...” her mood soured.

\---

"What a waste of time! I'll make sure that... THAT **arrogant** momma's boy isn't gonna stand a chance dilly-dallying around that office for long!!!" The infamous makeup clad news anchor gritted her teeth, emptying her coffee cup before shoving it towards her co-anchor.

"Stupid shit-eating grin **high-hat** …" mumbling to herself, she seethed with crossed arms—purposely knocking a small trash bin in the process.

"Now, now Katie...This is still news right? I mean...why would he possibly take an interest in such a dreary town! Smells **fishy** if you ask me." Tom blabbered about, clumsily taking hold of Katie’s belongings.

Rolling her eyes, Katie sneered at him. She did hate Tom— **lots** , but she would be a fool to not even consider _digging up the idea_. After all, their visit with him was still a drop in the bucket that needed extra filling—since the radio host was too **conniving** to engage in idle chat. Alastor was a recluse from the start—even before the radio station picked him up. The man never moved farther from Louisiana. So his arrival was certainly news that she couldn’t pass on. She didn’t expect to see him in the shabby building of all places—heck his arrival was also an **insult** to her and look at how it ended. If she had to trace and watch his every move to get to the bottom of this— _she would no questions asked_.

“Fishy or not, he still reeks of arrogance worse than the bogs.”

Tapping his chin, Tom began pondering. “And that **lady** from earlier...doesn’t she seem familiar to you...? ”

“Magne’s spawn.” she drawled on, curling her fingers evenly—the surname dripping with vile,

“She’s a dainty little thing. I’d give her that, but a real **klutz** under that innocent facade.” Katie snickered, giving encouraging side-eyes to her companions to join her ridiculing.

Tom was none the wiser but to forcefully chortle along. It was a bad move to go _**against**_ his co-anchor in every way—and he’d learned it the hard way too. On the other hand, the two broad unfamiliar men behind her did nothing but nod monotonously in agreement, as they towered over anyone else around the lobby.

“Utter disgrace” Katie snickered, crushing the cigarette butt with her heels as she walked across the main lobby—the newsmen trailing behind in her wake.

Little did she know that a _**menacing aura**_ with furrowed brows was bound to block her way. Katie may have been troubled this entire morning, but it was certainly nothing compared to the upset latina—who impressively managed to connect a few dots involving a **certain** coffee catastrophe. But honestly, it was merely child's play. If bad news was afoot around this town, the telly news anchors are on the scene—ready to report, only in this case, it was _them who undoubtedly caused it_.

Vaggie widened her stance as she forcefully refused the news people safe passage in a blink of an eye—leaving Angel to watch the drama unfold, deciding to sit this one out. _'Catfights are never gonna be **this** entertaining in ta soaps.'_ he thought amusingly, his eyes trained on the two ladies before taking generous gulps from the juice box he was nursing.

"Haven't YOU done enough **pestering** for today?!! If you're just gonna **flaunt** and be a total **bitch** to everyone in here, then you and your men have no rights to be here.” Vaggie was upfront, her eyes flaring with rage in that petite uniform of hers—imitating a small threatening barricade with hands on her hips.

Clicking her tongue, Katie grinned at her begrudgingly, "I don't think leaving would be necessary since you're so eager to **meddle** with me. Is this about that stupid blonde?"

Vaggie's glare intensified, wielding whatever force she had left to not lunge and pin the dastardly woman. She knew that Katie was only egging her on to let her steam rise, but hearing her address Charlie with distaste **ignited** the fuse within her.

“If there's a stupid blonde in here, it's none other than you. **YOU FUCKING WHORE**!” she shot back, earning a chorus of gasps from the onlookers. Katie’s eye twitched from the raw insult—much to Vaggie’s liking.

Putting on a show was not part of her plans, but if she sees it fit to do so—to let Katie leave Charlie be and expose Katie’s insufferable attitude—and this building alone, then she was _more than willing_ to give her a mighty **jab** on the face.

Katie matched Vaggie’s gaze with mock disinterest, craning her neck to the side so fast it could’ve snapped in half. The two dames were well aware of gaining the limelight, but neither cared for it, now that they were locked within a heated glaring match with restrained fists on each side.

Numerous eyes began nosing about in the area as the heated exchange escalated. Tom, who was now feeling rather uneasy and worried for his reputation under the public eye, _attempted to intrude_ and call his inner mediator on the situation.

"W-whoa now…l-ladies!! Just a moment!”—he chuckled nervously—” This might be all just a big misunderstanding. Why don’t we all take a seat and discuss this over with like respectable adu—”

Tom took the sucker punch in his stomach from Vaggie. He doubled over in pain from the blow near his nether region. Angel held back a laugh in the back, watching the man fall helplessly caress himself like a ball on the floor. None seemed to take notice of him, except for Katie’s escorts who sprung into action to assist him back up but Tom waved them off as he staggered to and fro—barely regaining his footing.

The crowd never had a moment to reel their attention away nor move a muscle. But nonetheless, Vaggie began **unfurling** her anger.

“How bold of you to assume that you and your **MEN** can simply slip away and make a fool of this company— **TO E-EVERYONE IN THIS TOWN!!** ”

Brows crossed, Katie’s eye twitched. Not many dared to stand up to her, especially in the wide open. She was willing to drive her hands on Vaggie’s hair anytime now, but she didn’t want to engage in a _petty fight_.

“I don’t mean to rain on your parade but we’re only doing our jobs as respectable reporters here.” She huffed, fanning Vaggie’s view out of her sight.

“You call harassing an employee a **respectable** job?” Vaggie quipped back.

That did drill the nail, making Katie stop in her tracks.

 **“Get out of my way** ”

“Make me, I. **dare.** _**you**_.”

Face darkened, Katie’s bodyguards locked their arms around Vaggie in a flash. That seemed to catch Angel’s attention from the back as he tried to reach the scene whilst abandoning his drink in the process.

"Get your hands off me! **DÈJAME IR IMBÈCILES**!!!" Frantically cursing and struggling, the latina attempted to lunge at Katie.

"Whoa whoa! Keep your grimy hands to yourself, please. I don't touch the **gays**."

The bodyguards perfectly locked Vaggie with their arms in a vice-like grip. The pain was evident from the way her face constricts, but she held her ground.

Smug as ever, Katie looked at the helpless prisoner eye-to-eye.

“It’s not my position to tell you this but sometimes people really can't take the hint."

“I'd appreciate it if you won't try to double-cross the best anchors in this town. It’ll save you and your company _**plenty**_ of charges.” Grinning, she whispered in her ear. Vaggie’s resolve weakened from hearing those words alone as the cogs began turning in her head.

“Of course...I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.” The buff men released Vaggie, making her stumble a bit when Angel came to her rescue—although a little too late.

"Yep! There's nothing to see here! Make way people!" Tom scrammed the growing audience of onlookers away, but that didn’t stop them from exchanging hushed gossips as they carried on.

With a final sneer, Katie’s domineering aura opened a path out of the main lobby before her men could even take the lead—Tom still topsy turvy from the events, mustered to catch up.

 **Dread** consumed Vaggie’s whole body as she replayed the anchor’s threat in her head. She didn’t want to make such a big scene on behalf of the company’s dire state—it was all for Charlie’s good name. Call her anything, but **never** call her friends anything that equates to something lowly or below the belt.

A mix of emotions took refuge in her current state and it wasn’t good. She was furious and then filled with anxiousness, the next. It was _suffocating_ and she can only glare at the absent scene when she composed herself bit by bit away from Angel’s arms.

"Easy there tigress, as much as I wanna help ya out, but that walking lipgloss is impassable and impossible—yeah?" Angel’s cheeky smile faltered into a half-frown.

With a pained expression, Vaggie retreated back to her desk chair in hopes of alleviating the throbbing pain on her reddened wrists. "We can't let people like her step on us like doormats all the time, especially Charlie."

Huffing she wanted the void to _swallow her whole_ at the moment. Anything bad can happen at the moment as she stared at the telephone that would decide her fate. She might be getting ahead of herself now but she knew how to expect for the worst all the time. Alfred wouldn’t take the situation so kindly and who knows, maybe she’ll end up in the streets after she _**dug** her own grave_ earlier.

"Wait who? little blonde doll?? apple daddy's spawn???" Blinking in bewilderment, Angel asked. 

"WAIT are ya two??? ya know...pitching woo?? Wow... I didn't know ya like the sugary ones." Elbowing Vaggie, he taunted like a five-year-old.

"God...you're still disgusting."

"I call it years of expertise, babe."

Tired of the nonsensical conversation, Vaggie reverted her attention back to her work as usual. Although it’s hard to admit that waving off the dread she felt was _difficult to ignore_ , a part of her still felt **fulfilled** for standing up for someone important to her.

A sudden rush of happiness still tinged her features on the mere thought of it.

Angel took notice of that, reading between the lines of what stirred the heated exchange earlier, his lady friend may have been harboring romantic feelings for the blonde all this time. He honestly found it endearing since the latina **rarely** shows the soft and affectionate side of her, but he decided not to pry this early on.

"Who was it again, Mr. Carl...?"

Clicking his tongue in approval, Angel mused with her. " **THANK FUCKING GOD**. I was wondering when you'd take me seriously."

“Never said I would” she quipped back without missing a beat.

"Carl...." squinting, she was close to locating a potential candidate bearing the name when the telephone rang.

For once, Vaggie was very hesitant to take a call. She knew that it only spelled her doom. She desperately still hoped it wasn’t what she thought it was. She tried to ignore it for a few good seconds, but Angel was ahead of her to _point out the obvious_.

"Ya gonna take that?? Seems urgent."

Sighing, she reluctantly gave in.

"I don't really have a choice, do I...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get to see Vaggie's perspective in this chapter! (I have fun writing intense showdowns like this tbh xD and yes, Katie seems like the big bad b*tch here lol) ). Our main characters seem to encounter a whole lot of downs lately, I somewhat feel bad for treating them like this ;v; but every obstacle calls for great, promising changes if I say so myself! How will Vaggie deal with her impending dilemma now that she struck a hard blow on the company itself? Also, we're still on the verge of finding out Alfred's offer for Charlie! :0 Stay tuned for the next chapter as we embrace Alastor's perspective again! 👀
> 
> Another shameless segue:  
> (Words can't describe how thankful I am for all of you who stick with this story so far! I promise to try my best and improve my writing, Y'all keep me going! ;; Feel free to reach out to me in the comments section, I would love to hear from you! <33 or at least engage in idle rants xDD I hope the sun is shining for all of you out there, typhoons really did a number on us here In ph and it's one of the reasons why I took 2 and a half weeks to get this chapter out ;; Still, keep safe yall! <3)


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